Sunday Ways.
Afternoon yawns below lulled cobble streets
as slow-Sunday relief calls all cottage people.
Coast-swept valley folk stretch best-clad legs
to hill-high chapels and heads
bend to pray as Sunday-sea laps in summer,
milk-mild and rippleless
while fat hinterland whispers "Yes" to grass
ambles of un-hasty cattle
loath to quit pasture for stick-dry cow shed.
White azure wipes Sunday's sapphire sky
with fine haze as housewives
fold greasy aprons to revive post-dinner
languor alongside napping
males who full-bellied unbutton to snore
away, in belch-ridden dreams,
more creamy helpings of sweet fruit pie.
Sunday-dusk drifts in last need to linger
as kitchen gathers its family
Sunday-ness for sandwich supper of rich
weekend treats, then well-fed
togetherness blinks as clock-chimes show
Sunday-ways stop when hot
hob-black kettle cools last desire to sing.
As fire-glow dies tired souls climb worn steps
where sleep knows dawn means labour again.
-
Author:
Fay Slimm. (
Offline) - Published: April 9th, 2018 05:07
- Category: Unclassified
- Views: 27
Offline)
Comments6
I love the language, the exuberance of your verbosity is breathtaking and I like the sound of that fruit pie 🙂
BEAUTIFUL FAY ~ Memories of the Old Fashioned Sunday ! Alas the peace and tranquility and the traditional Church Service and Sunday Lunch etc have been replaced by Shopping trips ~ dining at the Harvester and the user friendly radio replaced by the "must be watched & listened to" TV ! When I became a teen (1996) most of what you describe had disappeared ~ no time for meditation ~ Sunday is no longer a "Day of Rest". Thanks for sharing ~ yours BRIAN.
A fine write Fay.
I recognise this - great stuff Fay
Very good write, those Sundays were so special.
After: more creamy helpings of sweet fruit pie...... I am now dreading back to work on Monday! Great write1
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